Parche Seeds-of-chaos Hz -

"It's the resonance," a voice rasped from the shadows. It was an old Magus, his eyes milky with cataracts but fixed on something Rowan couldn't see. "The world has a pulse, boy. But this... this is a blooming in the wrong key."

Rowan stood at the edge of the forest, his hand resting on the hilt of a rusted blade. The air felt heavy, like it was saturated with iron. Every few seconds, the frequency would shift, a subtle "Parche" or adjustment in the vibration that made the very grass beneath his feet curl and blacken.

"If that frequency hits the resonant pitch of the city walls," the Magus warned, "they won't just crumble. They'll dissolve into the void."